A year or so after my grand-twins were born, my parents, now in their mid-eighties, came to visit us and stayed for a few days. They saw our three-generation household living together in ways that they were not accustomed to. They watched as we all shared in the joys and challenges of caring for the babies, and saw how we sought to respond to the little ones’ special needs with patience and kindness.

The babies, who had been born extremely prematurely, had spent nearly the first two months of their lives in a hospital’s neonatal intensive care unit, and they had come home from the hospital fragile and terrified of life. Babies born that early are often exceedingly touch-averse. We had been warned by doctors that they might never respond normally to human contact. Our response was to hold the little ones in continuous skin-to-skin contact with us virtually twenty-four hours a day, even allowing them to sleep on our bodies at night. My parents — who were products of a time when beliefs prevailed like “Spare the rod and you’ll spoil the child” and “Don’t pick up babies or you’ll spoil them” — saw how we provided the babies with endless opportunities for physical connection. And they observed the results — the twins were growing into joyful, curious little guys who loved being cuddled.

I expected it to be difficult for my parents to see the very different way we were raising these little ones, and also for them to see how in our home the men as well as the women changed diapers, cleaned house, and made the meals. Perhaps because they were nearing the end of their lives, they seemed more accepting of our differences than I had experienced them before. I didn’t realize, though, how deep the acceptance went.
At one point, my father took me aside.

“When you left Baskin-Robbins,” he reminisced, “I thought you were crazy.”

“Yes,” I replied. “I remember.”

“Well,” he said, speaking more slowly now and turning to face me, “I see that time has proved you were right to follow your own star.” Hearing him speak this way, I felt, perhaps for the first time, his blessing on my life.